The sun will never set on the children of Africa.

By Eileen Gbagbo

The sun rises on the children of Africa

She winks down at her first borns

Those whose earth coloured palettes glow at her touch

Those whose ancestors reverenced her deity

She illuminates the histories before

Zeus ruled the heavens, and man invented pseudo strength synonymous with constraint

Before they forgot the power of a flame

Its dominance over wax

Its unquenching, uncomfortable light

She mocks their assurance of truth

Their epic songs of arms and man

Their greatness rooted in deceit and theft

Enlightenment founded on the rape of the fittest

She is the muse of the diaspora

Whispering sagas of matriarchs

Carrying grace and flamboyance on their left hand

Jurisdictions and philosophies on the other

Intersections of their DNA created wealth

Their bodies commanded gold from mountains,

Long before he eroded her femininity

Searching for treasures hidden in Arabian nights

With every thrust, black hands on black guns

With every thrust, white hands on black gold

The sun striked the tip of the whip

Each crack echoed your black is beautiful

Your black is excellence

Your black is enough,

Tell them, you are reclaiming your time

You are splitting the shackles of neoliberal colonialism

Because your mind is the library of Alexandria

Your fist holds the violence of the Haitian revolution

Your mouth recites prophecies

Your mitochondria is a firebomb

Scorch them when they’re thirsty

Smoulder their ignorant supremacy

Ignite their temples with the notion of equality

Its radical simplicity

Repeat that twice.

And when they try to appease you

Uproot their affirmation

Confirm their synthetic privilege

And remind them –

You are the genesis of mankind

The exodus of knowledge

And you will be the revelation of a rebellion

Because their dusk will come

But the sun will never set on the children of Africa.


© 2019 Eileen Gbagbo. All rights reserved.